


Sunday Mass

by paperbridge



Category: 91 Days (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Short, cuz frate is super high but i'm terrible at writing lmaooo, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-15 23:31:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8077570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperbridge/pseuds/paperbridge
Summary: In which I complete this snippet, but also possibly fuck up Frate's character in the process





	

Tomorrow was Sunday. Sunday was tomorrow. Frate clung to this idea, digging his fingers through and trying to make sense of it with the sheets crumpled in his grasp. It’s the only thing he can make sense of. It’s the only thing he can hold onto while Ronaldo trapped him. He couldn’t see his face, but he could feel the bed post pressed against his cheek-- or was he being pressed against his bed post? Tomorrow was Sunday.

 

“Relax a little,”

 

Ronaldo’s voice filtered through the creaks and smacking skin, resonating with the pull of his hair and the gentle trailing hand moving from his hair to his mouth. Frate licked at the fingers hooking the side of his mouth, reeling his head back every time he dared try to hang his head. He needed something to connect to, but his mind swam in and out of conscious thought as adrenaline rushed through.

 

Ronaldo took away his fingers after they grew slick with Frate, pulling out of him slowly, calculating his next move. Frate saw this as Ronaldo taking care of him, minding him, but his thoughts were erratic and all over, and he was growing numb from his earlier dosage.

 

“I’m going to die,” He cried, whimpered, whispered. “I’m going to die..”

 

His heart was beating too fast for its own good. Only Ronaldo made him feel this way, he made him feel so good. He brought him relief and security and saw him.

  
Tomorrow was Sunday. Sunday was mass. Tomorrow...  
  


....

* * *

 

 

The crumbling pages of the Testament are on the pastor's lips, his voice hearty and golden like the light that pours out from the glass paintings above today's session. Vanno used to sit beside him on Sundays, and share the song book with him. Frate recalls how wholesome Vanno's songs were, and his company became one of the reasons he actually enjoyed going.  
  


Nero never went, but Frate went. Not out of good conscious, but to please his father. Vanno only made it bearable.  
  


"Frate," A voice greets, deep and rich. It reminds him of the bootleg Nero chases for and of his father's personal collection.  
  
  
Frate looks up from the withered pages of his scriptures to Ronaldo, and when he does he catches the glint in his eyes. He swallows and looks away. He doesn't trust him. Late to church, and choosing to sit with Frate of all people. It serves him no good purpose, because Frate is a child, in the eyes of others.  
  
  
But he isn't.  
  
  
Frate peers up from his bible and Ronaldo is still watching him. He swallows, but his gaze stays on the older man.  
  


Ronaldo smiles, and like the bootleg Nero pursues, Frate falls into his own chase in Ronaldo.  
  
  
\---  
  
Ronaldo Galassias is a promising man, in the eyes of his father-Nero, not so much. Frate observes quietly from the couch, catches the subtle change in conversation between his brother and their father. Fio's not in the room today, otherwise she'd reach for Frate's hand and ease the mood.  
  
  
Frate watches Nero smolder and burn, reliance on the Galassias ridiculous on his side-it only makes sense, as Nero never was a follower.  
  
  
He watches his father's cigar smolder and burn, smoke plums rolling off his lips. He's tired, as if he hasn't found sleep in seven years.  
  
  
Frate consider how quickly his father aged as Nero leaves without a word, and dismisses the thought when his father excuses him without a word.  
  
  
Ronaldo passes Frate by in the halls. He pats his shoulder, smiles that rich smile and enters his father's study. Frate straightens up, his head high as he walks again.  
  
\---  
  
Tomorrow was Sunday. Frate had passed by Barbero in the halls and had asked where his brother went for the day. _With Vanno,_ he had said, his lips set in a small line.  
  
  
"Where?" He had asked.  
  
  
 _Out._  
  
  
Frate questions how old he is, and how old he would be before he got respect. He runs a hand through his hair and ticks, like a clock. He counts his steps to calm himself, a trick that worked when he was younger.  
  
It quickly loses its charm.  
  
\---  
  
Frate toys with his tie absentmindedly, mind still on yesterday's troubles with tomorrow's problems. Sunday was tomorrow. He loosens up the tie, realizing it was a bit too tight. He frowns down at his hands, his mind disconnected from the fingers that worked.  
  
  
"It was fine the first time," Ronaldo purrs from the archway. He hadn't realized he forgot to lock the door. Frate stares at him, uncertain.  
  
  
"It felt a little tight."  
  
  
"That's because you were over-thinking."  
  
  
Frate frowns, and Ronaldo huffs, amused. He pushes himself off the archway and ambles over to Frate, and he continues until he's intruding his personal space. Frate backs away only for Ronaldo to frown. He stops, and Ronaldo relaxes.   
  
  
-  
  
  
"You're always so stiff," He comments, loosening Frate's tie and playing with the cloth.  
  
  
Frate says nothing. He's never sure when to interject or speak, and the family does well without his words anyway. He will never be as spontaneous as Nero, who was born to be Don. Ronaldo catches the fire in Frate's eyes, even if it's just about to die.  
  
"I can always offer you some excitement," He offers, taking in the shock on Frate's face and takes it in like a drink.  
  
  
"I don't need that," Frate mutters, and it's the first time he's spoken to him personally.  
  
  
"Of course you do," Ronaldo presses, pats his shoulder and feels Frate tense up. "We all do-your brother lives off it, and Dad has had his share. They started younger than you too, I bet." Frate pauses, big eyes suddenly lit from the reassurance.  
  
  
"They had to have been," He says after a while.  
  
  
"They had to."  
  
\---  
  
Nero misses church, again. Frate had better track of how many times Nero has actually gone to church than he has of him ditching-he's the only one he seems to care about this, at this point. He'd put more effort into something other than antagonizing his brother if there was anything else for him _to_ do. 

  
But there isn't, and Nero has only ever gone to church fifteen times in his entire life.   
  
  
Frate tells Ronaldo this and Ronaldo purrs that he's _got great memory,_ and _that's important to the business._ It makes him feel good, but he questions what he means by _business._    
  
  
 _Family to you,_ Ronaldo explains, _is business to us._    
  
  
When mass ends, Frate lingers in the chapel. He's not spiritual like Vanno, but it's one of the few places he can truly claim. The house isn't his, Lawless isn't his, but Nero will never take the church away from him.  
  
  
"This is definitely one of the prettier churches I've seen," Ronaldo muses, taking a seat beside Frate whose expression softens.  
  
  
The kid is easy to read, Ronaldo thinks.  
  
  
"I don't see how that should really matter," Frate replies, his words coming out easily. He wonders if he's drunk off Ronaldo's voice. "Churches are all the same-we worship under the same Lord with the same sermons and same testaments."  
  
  
Ronaldo laughs, and Frate feels something close to being tipsy. He cracks into a small smile, himself.  
  
  
"So what matters is what happens inside the church, then?"  
  
  
Frate nods and Ronaldo smiles more.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
"Tesoro," Ronaldo uttered against his skin, kissed his burning skin fervently and Frate melted. His mouth hung open from a drifting keen. His tongue traced the underside of his top teeth, and it felt so foreign to him. It wasn't Ronaldo's, and the numb feeling mingled with disappointment at this fact.   
  
  
Frate's combed hair had fallen apart from the rough sex and the fistfuls Ronaldo grabbed at greedily earlier on. His scalp burned and grew cold, and Frate couldn't hold on.   
  
  
He was going to die, but Ronaldo continued calling him and thrusting in him. Tomorrow was Sunday...   
  
  
Ronaldo grunted, muttering about _how special you are,_ and _my God, you're amazing._ And Frate was. He was. Ronaldo said so.  
  
  
"Mine," Frate whispered into the bed post, grabbing for it as Ronaldo groaned and uttered a "Tesoro" onto his neck.   
  
  
"Mine," He demanded. Ronaldo kissed and bit into him, and dug his nails into his hips.  
  
  
" _Mine,_ " He pleaded. Ronaldo hissed as he claimed him with one final thrust, a hand covering Frate's mouth. He hushed, and Frate whimpered and obeyed, trembling as he filled him up for the week.  
  


* * *

  
  
"Of course I'm yours," Ronaldo says to Frate the next morning. Frate clings to him, rests his head against his chest and relaxes. He hadn't considered just how clingy the kid would be, but it's nice to be needed.  
  
  
"... And everything else, too?"  
  
  
There's a pause, and Ronaldo laughs.  
   
  
"The business, the house, Lawless, and me. Everything you've always wanted."

**Author's Note:**

> there was supposed to be some sex in church too but idk how to write that stuff lmao so rry


End file.
